


Volunteer Hours

by LittleWritingRabbit



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 19:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17147633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWritingRabbit/pseuds/LittleWritingRabbit
Summary: Peter and Ned were just looking for some volunteer hours, but things got a little out of hand.





	Volunteer Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas Aliyah :)

Peter Parker stood from his seat on the subway and shuffled over so an old lady weighed down with shopping bags could take his place. “What did you get for number 13?” he asked absentmindedly. 

Ned Leeds frowned at the ceiling in thought. “I think it was ‘saturated fatty acids’” he said, “Was that c?”

“I think so?” Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I think I could fall asleep,” he yawned. 

Ned hummed in agreement. They passed a few more stops. “Have you got all your volunteer hours yet?” he asked.

“Does the Stark internship count?” Peter smiled dryly. Ned laughed. “Yeah, I still need a few more,” said Peter, “But… in what time? Between school and the, uh, _internship_ -” he decorated the term with a few air-quotes, “-I’ve hardly had time to sleep.”

“Yeah, no offense, but you look exhausted.”

“Thanks, Ned.”

“Is that why you missed your stop just now?” Ned asked helpfully.

“What?! No!” Peter whipped around to see his stop disappearing into the distance as the train sped on, inadvertently hitting Ned with his backpack as he turned. He sighed. “It’s ok, I’ll just walk with you,” he said. 

They got off at the next stop and trudged up the escalator onto the rainy streets above. 

“…I’m just saying,” said Ned, continuing the debate they had been having on and off for about three days, “Gandalf has fought Balrogs and Nazgul and stuff… I really don’t think Dumbledore can compare to that.”

“Bold of you to assume dementors weren’t based off-” Peter’s sentence stumbled to a halt as they turned a corner. “Is that one of the new outreach centre things from Wakanda?” 

“Yeah,” said Ned, looking up at the tall, colourful building. The walls had a slightly 3D effect, due to being made up of several layers of solar panels in various colours and geometric patterns. The roof was slanted at such an angle that the water ran off to be filtered through several layers of potted plants on a trellis, and then through a larger filter into a tank behind a water fountain. A small poster on one of the sliding doors had some writing in Xhosa, with the words ‘volunteers welcome’ underneath, which Peter figured must have been the English translation. “It was built pretty recently,” said Ned, “But they’re starting a robotics camp next week and it looks pretty sweet.”

“Volunteers welcome…” muttered Peter.

“Heh?”

“It says ‘volunteers welcome,’” said Peter. “Do you think we should apply?”

“Actually, that would be really cool!” said Ned, “I hear their tech is _amazing_ , like, they have hover bikes and stuff!”

They ducked inside out of the rain and into an entrance hall where a secretary was typing on a tablet that was completely translucent. Peter pointed to it and raised his eyebrows. Ned nodded, grinning from ear to ear with delight. The secretary cleared her throat. 

“Welcome to the New York branch Wakandan International Outreach Centre,” she said, “Can I help you two?”

“We… we were wondering about your volunteer positions?” asked Ned, as Peter was too excited to speak properly. 

“We have positions in the arts, social outreach, and science and information exchange departments,” said the secretary, “Is there anywhere in particular you boys want to volunteer?”

“Science!” exclaimed Peter, “We would love to help out with the science and information exchange department.”

Several pieces of paperwork later, Peter and Ned accepted their volunteer pins with glee, planning to return on the weekend to help supervise the junior robotics camp. 

“This is the best distraction from homework since we built that scaled-down x-wing starfighter last month!” said Ned. 

The weekend arrived full of homework, as they do, but Ned and Peter were already on the subway downtown, “Wakandan International Outreach Centre New York” badges proudly glittering on their jackets the whole way. The arrived early and were sent upstairs into a room that looked like a classroom, albeit a very futuristic one with a whiteboard lying down like a reflecting pool in the middle of the floor and cushions around it. The board itself was made out of the same translucent material as the secretary’s tablet. 

“Two bucks says we make flying robots,” said Peter.

“Two bucks says we make rolling ones,” said Ned.

Peter was about to reach over for a handshake, when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The silent air around his head suddenly seemed horribly loud without making a sound. His nerves screamed for him to do something. Perhaps his senses were attempting to warn him of something, but he had no idea what it was. 

“Hit the deck!” he yelled, tackling Ned to the ground just in time. A drone whirred into the room right where their heads had been at a speed that would probably have concussed a person. Peter, assuming the danger had passed, moved to stand up, but was promptly knocked over once more by a girl no older than he was barreling into the room at full speed after the drone. They went down in a heap. 

“I’m sorry!” exclaimed the girl, sorting out which were her own limbs and which were Peter’s and Ned’s, before springing up and racing after the drone. It was headed towards a window. 

Peter leapt up as well, vaulted a desk, launched himself into the air and caught it just in time. 

“Parkour!” said Ned unsteadily from the floor. 

“Thank you,” said the girl. She was wearing a shirt that read “BaCON,” spelled with elements from the periodic table, and her hair was neatly wound into Bantu knots atop her head. She turned to the drone. “Shut up,” she said, and the drone obeyed, switching off with a quiet whirr. “Nice to meet you, I’m Shuri.”

“I’m Peter,” said Peter, “Nice to meet you.”

“Hi!” said Ned, “I’m Ned.”

“Thanks for saving my drone,” said Shuri, “Those were some pretty sweet moves,” she smiled. “I don’t know why, but it seemed kinda familiar… are you on YouTube or something?”

“Uh, no,” said Peter. 

Shuri shrugged and set about retrieving several boxes of wires and wheels for the robots. “The kids will be here in about half an hour,” she said, “So I can show you how to put these together before they show up.”

As it turned out, they were making both flying AND rolling robots over the course of the camp, so Peter and Ned were obliged to swap two dollar bills each and admit that they were at a stalemate. They also made swimming robots and jumping ones, which the kids conducted races with across the floor. 

Peter couldn’t help but be in awe of the level of technology at the Outreach Centre every Saturday that he volunteered. It was like no other robotics camp he had ever attended or assisted with. The kids probably didn’t know it, but the robots they were learning to build could easily be pitted against those of the robotics club at Peter’s high school… and _win_. 

Even if the technology itself had been half as cool, Peter and Ned would gladly have come to volunteer just because Shuri was there. She had maintained the façade of a cool and responsible camp leader for all of five minutes while going over the safety instructions, and then that mask had fallen off to reveal a vivacious seventeen year old genius who got way too excited about technology-based pranks and could almost certainly be called a memelord. She had a penchant for sitting on things (desks, windowsills, and on one occasion, her drone) which were not meant to be sat on, under the pretense that it was “free real estate,” and was in the process of making a pair of shoes that could walk up walls, simply because she wanted to scare people from the ceiling. 

About two weeks into their new positions, she waved Peter over to where she was watching a video that was hologram-projected from her bracelet. It was titled “SPIDER-MAN: GREATEST STUNTS COMPILATION.” 

“Yooo!” she exclaimed, as Spider-Man backflipped off a traffic light and landed in the back of a pickup truck, “Do you think you could parkour like that Peter?”

“Heh… I wish…” Peter tried to grin as non-suspiciously as possible. He figured it wouldn’t be amiss to put in a good word for himself. “He seems like a pretty cool guy, hey?”

Shuri looked at him funny. “Whatever you say Peter,” she said. 

Winter came and went, and while Peter was on a break from school, stopping trees from crashing into houses and thieves from ambushing passerby in the winter darkness, Shuri went home to Wakanda. That meant that he was sent a barrage of pictures of the projects she was working on in her lab at home, snippets of her favourite songs… and then her very approximate English translations of them, as well as several memes and videos of her pranking her brother. 

It was in the new year that his cover was properly blown. 

“Iron,” said Ned, holding out a hand for the soldering iron. 

“Man!” said Shuri, from where she was sitting on the desk in the corner, fiddling with her drone. Peter snickered. They were staying after hours, taking turns finishing up the tiny circuit boards that would power the lights in the kids’ robots, and Ned had taken to calling out the tools that he needed like a surgeon in a movie. Peter, who was lying on the cushion beside him, passed him the soldering iron. 

“More wire,” said Ned.

“Right away, doctor Ned,” said Peter.

“What are you doing to that poor drone today?” Ned asked Shuri, blowing away the smell of the melting wire as he handed the iron back to Peter.

“I’m attaching a speaker,” said Shuri, putting down her screwdriver and turning the drone on. It hovered up towards the ceiling. “Any song requests?” she asked. 

“That’s so cool,” said Peter, “Drone, play Despacito.”

But instead of the twangy opening guitar notes that they were expecting, a shout sounded from the street outside.

“HANDS UP, GIVE US THE MONEY!”

The three volunteers sprang from where they were sitting and rushed to the window. Through the front window of the corner store across the street they could see three figures in black masks threatening the cashier with the sort of almost-comically-large guns that are somehow all too easy for robbers to lay their hands on. 

“Oh my god,” whispered Ned.

“Oh no,” said Peter.

Shuri was already running back to her desk, “Are you gonna go help, Spider-Man, or do I have to do it by myself?” she called. 

Peter wasn’t sure if it was a joke, or if she somehow knew, but it was either keep his cover or let the store get robbed, so he threw off his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the blue and scarlet suit underneath. He had to hop around a little to get his shoes off, but then he was throwing open the window and springing out towards the store, webs flying. 

“COME AROUND THE COUNTER, WHERE WE CAN SEE YA,” a robber shouted at the cashier.

“P l a y i n g… M a m a M i a,” said the drone. 

The too-upbeat chords of the 70’s hit song blared from the drone’s speakers as Peter threw open the door and shot a web at the nearest robber. He leapt out of the way as the others leveled their guns at him, diving behind a rack of candy and dragging the robber with him. The robber growled and punched, but Peter threw open the door of the drink fridge right in the way of his hand.

“Care for a drink?” he asked, throwing the door closed and smacking the guy in the head with a party-sized bottle of Sprite. The robber crumpled to the ground. “There are more legal ways to get pop, guys,” Peter complained, ducking into another isle as the other robbers charged after him. 

“MAMA MIA,” blared the drone, “HERE I GO AGAIN!”

“You heard the song,” Peter yelled, pushing a rack of magazines over on top of the second robber, “Cheating doesn’t pay!”

It was at that moment that things went wrong. The third robber sprang at him from behind and they both crashed to the floor. The cashier, who had, until this point, been covering her head in fright behind the desk, piped up to yell “Look out Spider-Man!” but it was too late. 

Peter and the robber wrestled for a moment on the floor, bags of chips flying everywhere. Peter drove his elbow into the guy’s side, but the robber only tightened his headlock and started squeezing down on Peter’s neck. 

“Ack!” he gasped. 

“What’s the matter, kid? More than you can handle?” gloated the robber. 

“LOOK AT ME NOW!” sang the drone, “WILL I EVER LEARN?! I DON’T KNOW HOW! BUT I SUDDENLY LOSE CONTROOOL!”

Then suddenly they were hit with a blast of blue light from somewhere behind Peter. They went flying in different directions, but Peter managed to prop himself up against the cashier’s table amidst a fit of coughing, enough to see Shuri charging in, her hands encased in what looked like armored gloves which she used to blast the robber with blue energy as he pointed his gun at her. He was flung backwards into a wall full of camping equipment. 

“No one suffocates my friends!” she yelled. 

Ned opened the door with the soft “ding” of a bell that was tied to the doorframe. “Is everyone alright?” he said. “I’ve called the police, they’re on their way.”

“Thank you,” said the cashier, getting unsteadily to her feet. 

“I guess I’d better tie these guys up,” said Peter, setting about wrapping the robbers’ legs in webbing. 

“You know,” said Shuri as he finished, “If the robbers don’t rob the store within fifteen minutes, we’re legally allowed to leave.” As it was sort of a serious matter, Peter and Ned did their best not to laugh too loudly. 

“Sorry about the mess,” said Peter. They stepped out onto the sidewalk and headed back towards the Wakandan International Outreach Centre. “Thanks for helping me out back there,” he said, “I thought I had got it, but I really didn’t.”

“That’s ok,” said Shuri, slipping her hands out of the armored gloves like a boxer, “What else are friends for?” 

“MAMA MIA,” said the drone, “NOW I REALLY KNOW! MY, MY, I COULD NEVER LET YOU GO!” 


End file.
